


A slow, dumb show (to crack you up)

by mrbinglee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Lap Dance (sort of), Party, Rooftop Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28191411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrbinglee/pseuds/mrbinglee
Summary: When Gendry’s upset, Arya finds creative ways to cheer him up.Written for the 2020 Gendrya Gift Exchange
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 29
Kudos: 126
Collections: Gendrya Gift Exchange 2020





	A slow, dumb show (to crack you up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigdaddib](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigdaddib/gifts).



> Prompt: Lap Dance - Arya was only joking when she offered to cheer up her best friend Gendry with a lap dance. She isn’t so confident when he says, “Sure, why not.” 
> 
> Title is an altered lyric from “Slow Show” by The National

“Really, Arya, it’s been ten minutes. Have you found him yet?” Alcohol always made Sansa impatient, to Arya’s great amusement.

“I’m trying,” Arya said. “It’s hard. Your girlfriend’s flat is like a club right now.” She gestured to the dark, crowded open space of the loft to make her point.

Margaery swept past her with two fresh glasses, handing one to Sansa and taking a sip of the other. “Gendry’s six-foot-five, Arya. He can’t be that hard to find.”

“You’d think so,” Arya grumbled.

Sansa tossed her long red hair over her shoulder. “Well, it’s my birthday party, and I won’t be kept waiting any longer.” Her lofty tone was undermined a second later, when she giggled after Margaery whispered in her ear and kissed her cheek.

Arya increasingly felt like she was intruding on a private moment. She cleared her throat. Loudly.

“Right, well, I’m going to keep looking,” she told them. “Just find other people to play with, yeah?” Beer pong wasn’t that much fun anyway—except when she was on a team with Gendry, because they always won. Arya grinned and called to her sister over her shoulder, “Maybe you’ll even win this time!”

She sobered quickly, though. Really now, where was Gendry?

“I saw him with you earlier,” said Hot Pie. Helpful.

“Waters? Necking on the fire escape,” said Wylla. Before Arya’s heart could stop, her friend shook her head. “Wait, no, that was Storm.”

“Saw him on his phone a while ago,” Theon shrugged, leaning back on the kitchen counter as he cracked open a beer.

“What do you mean, on his phone?” Arya pressed. Gendry’s phone had gone straight to voicemail when she called a while ago. “Like scrolling on it, or on a call?”

“On a call, I think. Hey, you’re welcome!”

Arya had already left the kitchen, but she waved a hand behind her in thanks as she exited Margaery’s flat completely and headed towards the stairs.

She knew where Gendry was.

***

The door to the rooftop slammed with a bang behind her, but Gendry must have known it was her. He didn’t turn around as she padded across the roof to the wooden bench where, as she had suspected, he was brooding by himself.

His strong, broad frame cut an impressive silhouette against the glittering King’s Landing skyline in the background. Arya sighed at herself for noticing. She was getting rather ridiculous lately.

Gendry mumbled a small, “Hey,” when Arya sat beside him. Wordlessly she stole his beer, taking a swig from the bottle and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she sat back and enjoyed the city’s night—the way she could glimpse the moon between the skyscrapers and hear the faint honks from the traffic on the ground. The cool breeze felt refreshing on her skin after being inside for so long. Gendry seemed cold, though, with his shoulders hunched, his hands huddled in his jacket. 

But that might have also been because he was upset.

“So you didn’t get the Blackwater internship,” Arya began after a time.

“How’d you know?” Gendry demanded hotly.

“No one told me,” she snorted. “I just figured it out.”

“How?” He sounded curious, and rather impressed, like that time she had helped save a litter of kittens brought into the shelter without their mother. (“Proper vet, you are,” he had declared. “Will be,” she’d replied.)

“You really want to know?” Arya asked.

He shrugged.

“Well I was looking for you,” she said, “and Theon told me you were on a call. I figured it had to be Blackwater, but since I couldn’t bloody find you, it meant bad news. And then I knew you’d be out here sulking by yourself.”

“‘M not sulking,” he mumbled.

She gave him a look. He huffed, which meant he knew she was right.

“Anyway,” Arya said. “That’s how I knew.”

Gendry swallowed, like he needed time to process everything she’d said.

“Thanks for coming up here,” he told her, softly, in that way he never seemed to be with anyone else but her. It gave her stupid feelings. Arya couldn’t stand it.

“Don’t go getting a big head,” she said. “I was only looking for you because Sansa wanted to play beer pong.”

A small smile grew on his face as he teased, “Needed your winning teammate?”

“Now look what I’ve done,” Arya groaned, though she was smiling too. “Gone and got you a big head.”

“‘S not that big,” Gendry said, deflating with a sigh. “Couldn’t even get me the bloody internship.”

At once Arya shifted close and gently touched his arm.

“Sorry,” she said. She tilted her head. “Fuck them?”

“Yeah, fuck them.” He paused. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Arya asked, amused.

“You already know I got rejected from the other places in King’s Landing.” He looked away out of embarrassment, Arya knew; but she didn’t pull away and it seemed to comfort him. “I really needed this one,” he admitted quietly.

“You applied to other firms,” she reminded him. “Like that one in Winterfell and the two in Storm’s End. You’ll get one of them for sure.” 

“But housing—”

“—I know, you’d have to find housing. That sucks.” She bit her lip. “Maybe you’ll get the one in Winterfell, and you can live with us.”

“Maybe.” Gendry sounded doubtful.

Arya swatted at his arm. “None of that, now. You _will_ get one, you _will_.”

Gendry looked unconvinced. Arya wanted to have a word or two with the idiots at Blackwater Bay Structural Engineers for making Gendry feel like he was anything less than the smart, creative, hard-working person she knew him to be. The Winterfell firm would recognize his talent, Arya was sure of it.

In the meantime…

“I’m going to cheer you up,” Arya decided.

Gendry’s face got all scrunched up in that cute way it did when he was confused. “What?”

“For the rest of tonight, and until it is no longer necessary, I am going to cheer you up.”

“Arya… it’s your sister’s birthday.”

Arya waved her hand. “I hung out with her already. She’s having a grand time. It’s you who needs cheering up.”

“What if I want to sit here and be sad?” he retorted.

“You’ve done that long enough.” Her voice was firm.

Gendry stared at her, the blues of his eyes just barely visible in the relative darkness of the rooftop. They were still too blue for her, but she made herself hold his gaze.

“All right,” he said at last, a smile sneaking into his voice. “Cheer me up, then.”

***

Arya wished she and Gendry had the kind of relationship where she could cheer him up by sitting in his lap and kissing him senseless. But they didn’t, so she told him about the happy parts of her day instead—the parts she hadn’t already texted him, at least. 

While she talked she tried her hardest to ignore how glaringly romantic the whole rooftop scene was. Truthfully she was having a bit of difficulty with it, since she and Gendry had ended up sitting rather closely, with their sides pressed up against each other as they gazed out at all the pretty city lights in the distance.

It didn’t help matters when Gendry suddenly took off his jacket. His shirt hid absolutely none of his toned muscles underneath, and his strong arms were on full display. 

Even worse news for Arya’s flushed face, he was holding the jacket out to _her_.

“What—?”

“You shivered,” he said simply.

“I did not.” But she put on the jacket anyway, for secret reasons.

“You did too. And there! Just now.”

She _did_ shiver just then, but that was because Gendry had reached out to pull the jacket more snugly over her shoulders and his fingers had brushed against her shirt. Not because of the _cold_. There was no way she could tell him that, though.

“Northerners don’t get cold, stupid,” she said instead.

“Is that right?” He was smirking, and Arya knew she was in for it. “Because I remember not three months ago, you went out to get the pizza and came back saying, and I quote, ‘Should’ve worn a hoodie.’”

“It had just started snowing,” she defended herself. One of those rare southern blizzards. “And I was only wearing sleep shorts and a shirt.” 

It was a weak argument, she knew, but she couldn’t very well tell him the real reason—that anything would feel cold after being curled up against the hot furnace of his body, as she had been for the better part of the evening.

“You tell yourself whatever you want, but I know the truth,” he said, laughing when Arya glared at him. “It’s okay if you get cold, you know,” he told her.

“Northerners don’t get cold,” she repeated stubbornly.

“I’m just saying, it’s okay if you get cold,” he said just as stubbornly.

Part of her wondered what he’d say if she asked why—if he’d say, “So I can warm you up,” and then they’d kiss here on the rooftop in the moonlight or something sickeningly wonderful like that.

No, he’d probably just tease her. That was how they worked.

“Well, maybe northerners don’t get cold,” Gendry said after a while. “But southerners do. Want to head back inside?”

“Okay.” 

She offered his jacket back as they climbed downstairs, but he said she could just keep it.

“Won’t be cold once we’re in the flat,” he explained.

Arya bit her tongue to stop herself from pointing out that _she_ wouldn’t be cold either. She didn’t know why, since it was hardly the first time she wore his clothes, but she rather liked the idea of wearing his jacket at the party, even if it fell almost past her shorts.

“Fuck,” she cursed aloud, planting her feet in the hallway. She did know why.

Gendry walked into her. “Arya—oof, sorry. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

Something was very wrong. She liked wearing his jacket at the party because it made her feel like they were together, like they were a proper couple. _Fuck._

When they got back to the flat the first thing she did was take a shot of vodka. 

These feelings of hers were getting seriously out of hand lately. Liking to wear his jacket was just another bullet point in the long list of Reasons Why Arya Needed to Get a Grip and Stop Crushing on Her Best Friend Who Probably Definitely Did Not See Her in That Way.

It was a thorough list, too, and not everything on it was as innocent as clothes wearing. No, just the other morning she’d woken up from a dream hot all over, her heart racing from the image of Gendry’s gorgeous blue eyes looking up at her from between her legs. Her fingers had even felt sore, as if she’d been tugging at his thick black hair in her sleep. 

Gods, she was getting hot all over _now._

Arya went to go pour herself another shot, miraculously keeping her hands steady when Gendry bent down to rest his elbows on the counter next to her.

“Thanks for cheering me up,” he murmured. “I think it worked.”

“Anytime,” she said warmly, all her nervousness washing away in an instant. _That_ was what she liked, being there for Gendry. Anything else would simply be a bonus. She noticed Gendry’s eyes following her hands as she poured her drink. “Want one?” she offered.

He pretended to think about it, which made her laugh.

“Sure, why not,” he said, with a smile she knew was meant just for her.

***

A while later, she and Gendry were on the drunk side of tipsy, leaning on the wall and laughing about nothing as they watched their friends celebrate Sansa’s birthday with atrocious dancing.

It was rather hot in the flat, but Gendry hadn’t asked for his jacket back yet, so she was keeping it. She liked how it swished around her as she bounced in place to the music. And Gendry looked good without it, anyway. _Really_ good.

“Wanna dance?” Arya asked, tilting her head up at him. As an afterthought she added, “It’s okay if you’re horrible,” which was his usual excuse to not dance at parties.

Gendry made a face.

“Might cheer you up,” Arya said hopefully.

He seemed to consider it. “Okay, sure, why not.”

***

“You’re saying that a lot tonight,” she commented when they were out in the middle of the floor. The room was pretty dark, but she could still make out Gendry’s adorably furrowed brows as he tried to copy her movements.

“What?” he asked, losing focus.

“‘Sure, why not.’ You’re saying that a lot.”

“I guess I am.” Gendry stopped moving, apparently deep in thought. He took a deep breath, and Arya could tell he was about to be very earnest, which was horrible timing as they were in the middle of a noisy dancefloor. He began, “I think it’s because—”

“Gendry!” someone shouted behind him. Arya couldn’t see who; Gendry was so big he blocked them from view.

“What, Dayne?” she heard Gendry growl. It must be Ned.

“Gendry, mate, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Ned exclaimed. Then he saw Arya as she came to stand next to Gendry. “Hey, Arya. Cool jacket.”

“Thanks, Ned,” she said, a little warily. She liked Ned well enough, but Gendry never had, for some reason even _she_ didn’t know. Arya didn’t want Gendry getting any more upset than he already was.

“What, Dayne?” Gendry repeated, sounding very rude. 

Luckily Ned didn’t notice. “I just wanted to say sorry about Blackwater and all,” he half-shouted over the music. “I know you had applied too, and—”

“Wait, _you_ got it?” Gendry sputtered, his hands clenching. “But you—you’re only a second year!”

“I know it’s meant for third years,” Ned said. He at least had the decency to look a little sheepish. “But they did decide to give it to me, so, you know. There are plenty others, though!”

“Congrats Ned,” Arya said flatly, knowing she didn’t sound congratulatory at all. She crossed her arms. “Best be off now.”

Then she whirled around to follow Gendry out of the flat.

“Gendry,” she called lightly. She caught up to him in the hallway. “Gendry, that was shitty of Ned, but he didn’t mean it that way.”

Gendry looked like he was going to continue storming off to the roof, but he sank to the ground instead. Arya sat cross-legged next to him, wrapping his jacket around her.

“He’s in _your_ year, Arya.” Gendry knocked his head back against the wall. “What’s he doing applying to third year internships, and then actually getting them?”

“I dunno,” Arya said dully. “But yelling off the roof won’t help anything.”

“How’d you know I wanted to do that?”

“I know you pretty well, Gendry,” she said, her voice quiet all of a sudden. 

Their faces were very close together. His blue eyes bore into her greys and she could smell the shots they had taken on both of their breaths.

Arya stood up.

“I know you’re going to go to the roof anyway,” she said. “Only… come back to the party after, okay? I’ll try to cheer you up again.”

***

Maybe it was a bit pathetic of her, but the party wasn’t as much fun without Gendry. And Gendry hadn’t even been objectively fun. Arya groaned and put her head in her hands. She was in deep.

“You all right, little sister?”

Instantly Arya smiled, and lifted her head.

“Jon,” she said happily, giving her best brother (cousin, whatever) a big bear hug. “Where’ve you been? I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Where’ve _you_ been?” Jon replied playfully. “I’ve been right here this whole time.” He pointed to a nearby couch where Ygritte and Sam and some of his other friends were sitting.

“I’ve been with Gendry,” Arya explained. “He—”

“—what do you mean, _with?_ ” Jon interrupted. “And is that his jacket?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Just hanging out with him. He’s a bit upset.”

“Where is he now?” Jon asked, looking around.

“On the roof, moping,” Arya snorted. “I told him to come back, though.”

“Oh, then obviously he’ll come back.” Jon laughed when she shoved him lightly. “Here, come hang out with us while you wait.”

***

Jon’s friends were fun, and Arya had a good time.

She had an even _better_ time later, when Margaery strolled into the center of the room and shouted:

“It’s time for Sansa’s birthday dance!”

Cheers erupted across the flat, and a chair was brought to the middle of the space. Margaery led an apparently very willing Sansa over, and with a dramatic flourish, sat her down.

Then the music turned low, and slow, and Margaery did something interesting.

Arya had thought that “birthday dance” meant Sansa would get to sit and watch everyone make fools of themselves on the dance floor, but what Margaery had in mind turned out to be a little more personal. A little more… intimate.

A lap dance. Margaery was giving Sansa a lap dance.

Arya couldn’t believe her eyes. Not only because it was happening, but because it really did look like Sansa was enjoying it—blushing madly (and prettily), but still enjoying it. Arya grinned and whooped and cheered good-naturedly with everyone else as Margaery revealed she was in fact a very talented dancer.

Suddenly—without even trying—Arya spotted Gendry on the opposite side of the room. 

He _had_ come back, then.

Arya felt her grin widen as his eyes met hers. Her feet began moving of their own accord, stepping out around the circle and starting a slow, purposeful walk across the floor. Towards Gendry.

For a long, slow minute, it seemed like she and Gendry were the only people in the room. Gendry certainly looked at _her_ as if she was the only other person in the room; his eyes never left her, never. Even when she had to duck past people watching Margaery and Sansa, she emerged to find Gendry was still looking at her, and found she couldn’t turn away. Her eyes locked onto his, and from then on her other senses navigated for her; all she saw was Gendry, and all she felt was the heat of his gaze and the warm fire spreading through her body all the way to her fingertips.

 _This is new,_ Arya wondered in awe. _The way he’s looking._ But no, that wasn’t right—she had seen this expression of his before. She saw it all the time when they were together, cooking in his kitchen and watching movies on her couch and studying in the library at 2am. It was the exact same look, but with something else tonight, something _more_ , something that made her head dizzy and her heart race and her legs rub together as she came to a stop before him.

"How’re you feeling?” she asked once she regained the ability to speak. Her voice came out awfully breathy.

“Not—not that good, to be honest, but now I’m just watching the show,” Gendry sounded awfully breathy too. He nodded towards Sansa and Margaery. “Your sister seems to be, erm, enjoying her lap dance.”

“Yeah,” Arya agreed. 

Then—maybe it was because Gendry sounded just as affected as her; or maybe it was because he kept his eyes on hers even as he nodded towards the main show in the room. Maybe it was a bit of both, plus alcohol. Whatever it was, it made Arya smirk and offer,

“Want your own to cheer you up?”

She expected a snort in reply, or a witty remark. 

But Gendry’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack. Then he grinned.

“Sure, why not.”

***

Arya froze. “What?!” 

“Might cheer me up, like you said.” He was smirking now. Where had this Gendry come from?

Oh, hells. If _she_ had noticed how affected he’d been by her slow walk towards him, then he must have noticed her reaction, too. She couldn’t believe he was making fun of her for this. Granted, she herself had been making fun of him with her little offer, but still. 

Arya shoved all of her feelings (and all of her anticipated humiliation) to the side. She was going to _win_ this, whatever this was. A little game that felt dangerously like flirting. And right, yeah, she was also going to cheer him up about not getting the internship and all that.

“All right,” she decided.

Gendry raised his eyebrows but kept his infuriating smirk. Wanker.

Arya grabbed the nearest empty chair, an armless wooden one, and set it before him.

“Sit,” she ordered.

“You sure know how to set the mood,” he commented, settling into the chair and spreading his legs all invitingly.

“How drunk are you?” Arya asked; she really had never seen Gendry be this forward with her. Trust her; she would have remembered. (And she would have done something about it.)

“Not very drunk,” Gendry replied. “The roof is very sobering.”

All right, he really was just being cocky, then. She could handle that.

Arya glanced behind her. The sexy music Margaery had danced to had turned back to regular pop, and everyone had gone back to regular dancing by now. That was reassuring; it meant no one else would see her do what she was about to do—only Gendry.

“Ground rules,” she told him. “You’re not allowed to touch me.” There was too much of a risk that she’d start kissing him if he did that.

“Okay.” Gendry swallowed. His smirk faltered but didn’t fall all the way. “You can—you can touch. Me. If you want.”

“Okay.” Before Arya lost her nerve, she asked, “Can I sit on your lap?”

Ha! There. His smirk was gone. But then he straightened his shoulders and locked his eyes on hers in challenge.

“Okay.”

Now _her_ smirk was gone. They were really going to do this. She was really going to dance all slow and press her body up against Gendry’s, up close, close enough that she’d be able to feel his heat, and his muscles, and—

 _It’ll be fine,_ she told herself. _Just make it silly and fun, without any feelings, and tomorrow you’ll laugh about it and carry on as usual._

Arya took a deep breath.

“This will be very, very stupid,” she warned him, “and maybe potentially awkward, but I expect you to laugh as if I am the best lap dancer in the world.”

“I don’t think the best lap dancers in the world are trying to make people laugh, Arya.”

Arya let his smart-ass comment slide just this once, because she was busy focusing on remembering everything she’d ever seen about giving lap dances, which wasn’t much. The only times she’d seen a lap dance had been a few minutes ago, and in the odd film or tv show. There _was_ that lady in that one movie she and Gendry watched that one time; maybe Arya could mimic her. 

Well, in any case, it was a good thing Arya had decided to make this as silly and stupid and fun as possible. It would be a mockery of a lap dance, that’s what.

There was nothing left to do but begin.

She stepped in between his legs, and oh gods, suddenly it was too hot everywhere—her cheeks, her body, the entire flat, everywhere. Arya slipped one arm then the other out of her (Gendry’s) jacket, and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground behind her. Then she realized she shouldn’t have done that because the ground was dirty and fuck, she was already messing up. Arya quickly spun and bent down to get it, and was about to spin back up when she heard Gendry suck in a breath.

 _What?_ She hadn’t even started yet, just bent down and—oh.

Arya grinned. Very, very slowly, with the jacket in her hands, she rolled back up and turned to face him.

“Like what you see?”

Gendry let out a surprised huff at her cheekiness. Even in the darkened room, she could tell he was blushing, but he was also smiling like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

Arya had her answer, and it made her bold. 

“You cheered up yet?” she teased.

“Getting there,” he replied, his voice low and gruff.

Still standing between his legs, Arya reached around him to hang the jacket off the back of the chair. Her hands ended up resting on each of Gendry’s broad shoulders, while her eyes traced the line going from his collarbone to his throat, to his jawline, his cheeks, his eyes… 

All of a sudden Arya realized just how close their faces were, how she could tell he was holding his breath just like she was. She could smell her lotion on him, the woodsy one she made him put on before they came to the party so he’d stop grumbling about the dry cold. It was too much.

“You know, it’s so unfair that even when you’re sitting, we’re almost at eye level,” Arya complained, stepping away from him.

“Not my fault you’re so small,” Gendry said with a laugh. “Where are you going?”

She had begun circling his chair. “I’m starting now,” she informed him.

“Thought you already started,” he muttered.

“No, I’m starting now,” Arya insisted. She brought a hand up and traced his shoulders with a featherlight finger as she walked around him. “This was the first thing the lady from that movie did when she gave that guy a lap dance, remember?”

“Make the guy dizzy?” Gendry snorted. “Ow,” he frowned when Arya poked him.

She did stop circling, though, since she was getting dizzy herself; the lady from the movie might have gone slower. What next?

There were some sexy dance moves, Arya recalled, but she couldn’t remember which ones. So instead she stood in front of Gendry and did a goofy arm wave while swirling her hips.

Gendry laughed, and in truth Arya was laughing too. This wasn’t so bad at all.

“You got any names for these fantastic moves?” Gendry asked, grinning.

Arya picked one on the spot. “Sea anemone.”

Gendry laughed again.

Switching it up, Arya stepped in between Gendry’s legs and brought her fists to her armpits, then moved her elbows up and down.

“I know this one,” Gendry said, eyes alight even in the dim room. “Chicken dance. Very sexy.”

Arya stuck her tongue out at him, then added a funny little shimmy to her hips. She turned around and shook her bum, too, for good measure. 

Then—oh! Finally, Arya remembered a move from the movie lady. It was supposed to be a sexy move; maybe Gendry would find it funny, since Arya was obviously not going to _actually_ be sexy.

She squatted all the way down, then as she stood she slowly rolled her chest at his face, in an imitation of a body roll.

“Very sexy, right?” Arya laughed, then leaned back so she and Gendry could laugh together at how silly she was being.

But Gendry wasn’t laughing. What he _was_ doing was staring at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen in his life. His face had the same expression as when she’d walked up to him earlier, but times a million—lips parted, chest heaving, and, perhaps most tellingly, hands gripping the seat of his chair, almost like he was physically holding himself back from touching her.

Arya’s heart raced in her ribcage. Was all this because of her? There was only one way to find out.

“Gendry,” she murmured, wrapping her hands over the back of his chair and pulling herself closer. “Can I still sit in your lap?”

He nodded rapidly.

Warmth pooled in her belly as she lifted one leg, then the other, slowly climbing into his lap.

What she felt there made her gasp.

“This from me?” she asked, glancing down between them. He was warm and solid against her, under her. She could feel his heart racing against hers.

Gendry nodded ever so slightly. 

A slow smile worked its way to Arya’s lips. _I did that. I had that effect on him. From my stupid, not-sexy dance moves._

“Do you want me?” Arya asked into his collarbone, rolling her hips. She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “Do you want to touch me?” His hands were still gripping the seat of the chair.

Gendry’s groan seemed to suggest an emphatic _yes._ His eyes were wild as they met hers.

“Arya, I—gods—” But then he froze. “Arya, wait, this isn’t—I don’t want—”

And then he was standing and Arya was sliding off him and suddenly she was standing too, not understanding what was happening, why he looked so panicked and distraught when not ten seconds ago it had all been pure pleasure. Arya’s face burned with mortification; her heart dropped like a weight to the floor.

“Arya, wait, I’m not saying it right—” Gendry started, but by then Arya had already turned away, blinking away the pinpricks of tears. He tried to follow, but Arya had always been quicker than him.

The wind blew away any traitorous tears that did fall as she ran the few blocks back to her flat. Gendry didn’t have to explain himself any further. Arya knew what he meant. _“This isn’t what I want. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”_

Part of her was furious with him for leading her on like that, for letting her give him a _lap dance_ , for fuck’s sake, even if it was supposed to be a silly one. The other part of her was furious at herself, for letting herself believe that she was special to him, like he wouldn’t also be aroused if any other person came up and danced right in his lap. 

_Stupid stupid stupid,_ her mind screamed as she laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, until exhaustion dragged her to sleep.

***

“Did you leave early last night?” Sansa asked Arya. It was the next morning; they were at Margaery’s flat, helping clean up the post-party mess.

“Yeah, I didn’t feel good,” Arya replied, pushing a bunch of cans off the kitchen counter into the recycling bin.

Sansa hummed sympathetically as she wiped the area Arya had just cleared. “Too much to drink?”

“Yeah,” Arya lied. _Not enough._

“I’ll make sure you drink enough water ne—” Sansa was interrupted by the thumping of heavy footsteps coming towards the kitchen.

Arya froze. It was a familiar footfall. She turned her back to the kitchen entrance and focused very hard on wiping an already-spotless space on the counter.

“Gendry!” she heard Sansa say. “You’re here to help clean?”

“Erm, yeah.”

“Brilliant. Why don’t you help Arya here, so I can help Margaery in the living room?”

Arya whirled around, glaring daggers at her sister. Sansa was always doing things like this.

“Okay,” Gendry said, and Arya finally looked at him. He looked like shit. No. He still looked good, even with his bleary eyes. Ugh.

“We’re all settled then,” Sansa beamed. She winked at Arya as she left, but there was nothing to wink about. Arya and Gendry were just friends, and would stay just that. Last night was proof.

Without a word, Arya turned to the sink and began washing the pile of dirty glasses. She could feel Gendry watching her.

Suddenly he was right beside her. “Arya…”

She shoved a wet glass at him. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

They worked in silence, and it was only after all the glasses had been washed, dried, and put away; and after the remaining bottles and cans had been placed in the recycling bin; and after the kitchen floors had been scrubbed to spotlessness, that Arya spoke.

“Let’s go to the roof.”

***

The King’s Landing skyline shimmered silver and white in the morning sun. It moved Arya none. She slumped onto the bench.

Gendry sat next to her, but stayed quiet. He seemed to have decided to let her speak first. Fine.

“How’d you know I was here, anyway?” she accused. This morning he had texted, _Can we talk?_ , and she had replied, _If you want,_ but that had been all.

“I went to your flat first,” he admitted. “But Lyanna told me you were here. Then I felt stupid, because of course you would be.”

She looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so good, Arya,” he said quietly. “Of course you’d be here, helping clean up.” His eyes were so blue. “And last night, cheering me up over the stupid internship, doing the… you know, and everything.”

Arya looked away. “Can we not talk about it?” she said, hating how pinched her voice sounded. “Can we just forget it ever happened and go back to normal?”

“If you want,” he said. “But can I… can I at least finish what I was trying to say? Before you left?”

“I already know what you were trying to say,” she snapped, rounding on him. “That you want us to stay friends, that you don’t want me in _that_ way.”

Gendry sighed, a long-suffering expression on his face. As if _he_ had been the one suffering here.

“Arya, that’s not what I was going to say,” he said.

Arya crossed her arms and faced the city instead of him. She didn’t want to hear it. No, she did.

“Go on, then.”

There was only silence to her side. She wouldn’t look at him, she _wouldn’t._

“Well?” she demanded to the air.

“Give me a second, will you?” Gendry huffed. “Are you—are you even going to look at me?”

“No.”

“Fine. What I was trying to say last night, badly, was that _that_ —” and Arya knew he meant when she sat on his lap and felt him “—wasn’t how I wanted to tell you how much I like you, and _do_ want you, and how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you, and—and I don’t want you to think I only like you because you’re fit and beautiful, which you are, but you’re also kind and smart and funny, and you’re my best friend and my favorite person in the whole world, really.”

It was the longest speech Arya had ever heard him give. She was lost for words.

“Anyway,” Gendry said quietly, after a beat, “that’s what I was trying to say last night, but I couldn’t get blood to flow from my dick to my brain fast enough to string all the words together.”

Gendry was already looking at her when Arya finally turned to him.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Out of everything I said, that’s what you’re asking?” he exclaimed.

“I already know about the kind and smart and funny stuff,” she pointed out. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “And obviously I know I’m your best friend, because you’re mine.”

Gendry shook his head through a small smile. “C’mere, will you?”

“Can I sit on your lap again?”

“Sure, why not.”

Arya narrowed her eyes as she straddled him, lacing her hands around his neck. She didn’t really mind his cheeky reference to the night before, but she hoped her expression would distract him from feeling how loudly her heart was beating. This was _Gendry_ for gods’ sake. Gendry, her best friend. Gendry, who did want her in the same way she wanted him. Gendry, who said she was his favorite person in the whole world. It was a lot to take in.

“Sorry, too soon,” Gendry muttered.

“What?” Arya asked, dazed. “Oh, it’s fine. And you can touch me this time. I only said you couldn’t last night because I knew I’d want to kiss you if you did.”

His hands flew to her waist. Arya sighed happily at the large, warm feel of them through her shirt.

She still did want to kiss him, but got distracted when she felt Gendry’s fingers flex against her. “You can go lower if you want,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’m not groping your arse before we’ve even kissed.”

“Well, I want you to, so do something about it.”

“All right, then.”

***

“You’re lying,” Arya said. She was cuddled up against him on the bench now.

“I’m not lying. You’re my first kiss.” Gendry bent his head to kiss her again; she liked that. “And I’m yours.”

“But you’re so… hot,” Arya protested, cringing on the last word. It was still a bit embarrassing, how attracted she was to him.

“Thank you,” Gendry grinned, laughing when Arya flicked his chest. “But the thing you have to remember is, you also like me for my personality, which cannot be said of anyone else who has ever met me.”

“That’s true, unfortunately.” Arya tilted her head up to peck him on the cheek, then the lips. “Don’t worry, I like you enough for all of them.”

Gendry reached for her then, and they stopped talking for a while.

“I could say the same thing about you, you know,” he said later. Arya was on his lap again, this time with his strong arms fully wrapped around her. She was very comfortable, and very warm all over. Feeling Gendry hard beneath her might be part of it.

“What?” she asked, remembering herself.

“Just that… you _are_ beautiful. I don’t just think it,” he said, answering her earlier question. “And you’re much better with people than I am, with friends and strangers both. I would think you’ve gotten loads of offers.”

“I do have a lot of friends,” Arya said thoughtfully, “but I’ve never wanted to kiss any of them, or any strangers either. Maybe they picked up on it, because no one ever brought it up.” She shrugged. “And anyway, before uni, I never really thought about kissing, and at uni, I’ve only ever wanted to kiss you.” It was so much easier to admit these things when you knew your feelings were requited.

Suddenly Arya realized something.

“You and me, we’ll still be friends, right?” She shook her head at herself. “I mean, we’ll still do all our normal things, but now we’ll also kiss while doing them, right?”

“Right,” Gendry nodded. His smile was brighter than any of the glittering skyscrapers around them. “Speaking of, want to kiss again?”

“I need to think about it.” Arya giggled at his mock offended expression. “Just kidding. Yes. Always.”

She had just tangled her hand in Gendry’s hair (which, to her delight, made him moan a little) when the door to the roof swung open with a bang.

“There you are, Arya,” Jon sighed in relief. He froze. “Is _that_ what you meant by hanging out with Gendry?”

***

Arya was very glad that she and Gendry now had the kind of relationship where she could cheer him up by sitting in his lap and kissing him senseless. 

Not that he needed cheering up much these days; a few weeks after Sansa’s birthday party, he did end up getting the Winterfell internship, just like Arya had told him he would.

“You told me I’d get one of them, not necessarily the Winterfell one.”

“I’m naked on your bed, waiting to celebrate, and you want to talk about—mmph, that’s what I—”

“—Wait, here, get on top.”

One other thing Arya was very glad about: even though she never ended up learning how to give a proper lap dance, Gendry showed great appreciation for any kind of dancing on his lap, proper or not. (Mostly not.)


End file.
